


Brothers-in-Arms

by DelusionsbyBonnie



Category: Battle for London in the Air (Roleplay)
Genre: Gen, Immortal Illuminati AU, Origin Story, Young Ireland, wholesome January
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:13:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29123982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelusionsbyBonnie/pseuds/DelusionsbyBonnie
Summary: Oscar Sherry was assigned to stop the Irish summer of 1848 from boiling over into open revolt.  Now that he's failed at that, he's determined to make a difference for at least two Irish rebels.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Brothers-in-Arms

Oscar leaned against the bar and nodded at the mustached man behind it. The man pulled a pint and set it in front of him, leaning in with a conspiratorial air. “New folks in town,” he muttered.

Oscar took a slug of beer through the foam and set the mug back down. “Tell me everything.”

“North corner table, two big redheads. Both armed. One of ‘em is definitely the brains of the operation, and the other is the biggest bastard I’ve ever seen. Awfully cagey, Brains is, and t’other didn’t talk at all.”

Oscar nodded slowly, slipping a hand into his coat and retrieving a couple of coins. “Thanks.” It wasn’t a great leap of logic to assume where the men had come from, and the crumpled green ribbons on their dusty coats confirmed his suspicion. The news of the abortive rebellion and the battle at Widow McCormack’s cabbage patch had traveled like wildfire over the country, and if these men weren’t personally involved, they were sympathizers. That, of course, meant that they would be on their guard more than ever. He would have to play his cards carefully.

He took a fortifying drink and wandered across the room. “ _ Dia daoibh _ ,” he greeted them casually, letting his coat fall open to display the tricolor ribbon pinned to his waistcoat.

“ _ Dia is Muire duit _ ,” the smaller man answered. Not that he was  _ that _ small; he was about Oscar’s size, but the other man still seemed to loom in comparison. “Who are you then?” he continued in Gaelic, pale blue eyes staring right through Oscar.

“Padraig O’Connelly. I’m a friend of Meagher’s.” Oscar noticed a flash of recognition on the bigger man’s face, but the other didn’t flinch. “Can I ask your names then?”

“Sure, you can ask anything you like. Doesn’t mean we’ll be answering.”

“Ah, look at him, then! He’s no redcoat.” The big man spoke for the first time, though clearly not to Oscar. “It’s no mistake we stopped here. Why else, but to get some help?”

“It’s too easy,” the other man grumbled.

“Mary and Joseph, why else are we still wearing the ribbons? Not everything is a trap.”

“Is it not, then?” The man’s tone was icy, but his companion seemed unbothered by it. Oscar tried his best to look as trustworthy and un-English as possible, and either he succeeded or the big man had made his point. “Fine then. You can call me Brian Boru.”

“My name’s Andrew,” the big man said happily. “Have a seat, O’Connelly.”

Oscar took the chair facing away from the rest of the room. “Brian Boru? Not the same one who writes for  _ The Nation _ ?” The newspaper pieces written under the dead king’s name were clean and cutting, arguments structured like a Roman aqueduct. Oscar had assumed the writer was an educated man, perhaps a lawyer like many of the other contributors, but these men looked more like farmers or laborers.

Brian Boru nodded regally. “The very same.”

“You’re a damned good writer, and it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Oscar said in full honesty. 

The man’s tense shoulders softened a little. “Thank you.”

Oscar turned to the man called Andrew. “You’re not a writer too, are you? I don’t recognize the name.”

Andrew laughed. “No! Not I. I’m a man of the sword, not the pen, after a manner of speaking.”

Oscar glanced down at Andrew’s hands. Tiny scars littered his knuckles over a dusting of freckles, giving proof to the truth of his words. Not that one couldn’t be both fighter and writer--Oscar himself did both, at least in as far as reports to the IIA went--but it certainly looked like this man would give him a run for his money.

“Sure, sure! There’s room for both, to be sure.” Oscar grinned. “Here, do you have anywhere to stay for the night? I’m sure you’re headed back home, but it’s getting late.”

The men exchanged a look. “We were hoping to get on a little farther down the road after a bit of a rest,” Brian answered warily. “It’s no short way we have to go.”

_ Easy, easy, don’t frighten them off now! _ Oscar nodded understandingly. “Right. Best to be as far as possible.” 

There would surely be British patrols sweeping the roads, and although they might get a little lazier with most of the Young Ireland leadership in their custody already, they wouldn’t just let these men go if they had the chance to capture more rebels. Even if Oscar had done his best to dissuade the rebel leaders from acting openly as they had, he still felt partly responsible for these men’s lives. Brian Boru was a brilliant writer, clearly a mind not to be wasted, and Oscar felt fairly confident he could come up with some excuse to recruit this Andrew as well. At the very least, it seemed he could fight and keep his mouth shut.

“Can I at least offer you a meal before you go?” Food was hard enough to come by, and they looked like they hadn’t eaten well in… possibly ever. It would be a good excuse to get them out of such a public area to offer the invitation. 

Brian looked as if he wanted to refuse, but Andrew spoke first for once, relief written broad across his face. “God love you, if you’ve got it to spare. We haven’t eaten since noon yesterday.”

“I do.” Oscar stood, smiling, and as he turned toward the door, a barefoot boy flung it open.

“Redcoats on the road!” he gasped, panting. “Coming past the O’Bracken place.”

Andrew spat an oath, and Brian was on Oscar in a second, gripping his collar and pressing something against his ribs. “If you’ve led them to us, I’ll kill you,” he hissed.

Oscar slowly raised his hands, staying very still. “I’m in just as much trouble as you if we’re caught. I know the countryside here. Come with me.”

Brian considered this for a moment, then nodded and released his collar, though Oscar caught the glint of a knife in his hand still. “Go on then, but if you betray us, you won’t live to enjoy your reward.”

Oscar nodded, gesturing toward the door. “Shall we?”

“You first.” Brian pushed Oscar toward the doorway, and he did not resist.

He led the men out of the thatched pub, cutting behind it away from the road. The farmland staggered up the mountains until finally giving up amidst a jumble of rocks and scrubby vegetation, and Oscar set a course up toward a particular set of stones. They would just look like a group of hard-working farmers to anyone looking up the hill from the road, and no one in this village would give them up. Oscar’s IIA-backed purse and generous hand had seen to that.

Halfway up the slope, he glanced back. The handful of British soldiers were sitting in the shade offered by the single tree in the village green, and a brown horse was tethered outside the pub. No one seemed to have noticed them, much to his relief.

“Where are you taking us?” Andrew asked from behind him.

“There’s an old tomb just up there. We’ll hide inside until they’re well gone.”  _ And then we’ll go to Dublin and get the hell out of here _ . After the news of the arrests had gotten out, he was ready to write off this assignment as a failure and just go back to London.

The rest of the hike was uneventful, save for one very startled rabbit. Andrew tried and failed to tackle the poor creature, meeting Brian’s frown with a shrug. “Still haven’t eaten, have we?”

Oscar winced in sympathy. “Sorry about that. I promise I’ll feed you as soon as I can.”

The tomb was a long cramped passage leading farther into the hillside. The three men wedged themselves inside, Andrew’s bulk blocking most of the light from the entrance. It was quiet for a long while, the only sounds those of breathing and the shifting of weight.

Oscar finally broke the silence. “I… haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

Andrew snorted with laughter. “That’s all well and good, we haven’t either.”

“Sure, I didn’t assume you’d be telling me everything. But this is important. An opportunity.”

“What sort of opportunity?” Brian’s tone was sharp.

“Another way to make a difference, now that this is… well.” Even though he couldn’t see them, he could  _ feel _ Brian’s pale eyes boring into him. He hurried into the rest of the explanation. “I work for an organization you won’t have heard of. We try to make a difference in the world. I was sent here to try to keep Young Ireland from acting preemptively, to keep the momentum of Daniel O’Connell’s Home Rule movement going, and even though I… didn’t manage that, obviously, I still want to help. Meagher is on a ship to America right now thanks to my help. I want you to join us.”

“What sort of organization?” Brian sounded skeptical, and Oscar couldn’t blame him.

“This is going to sound mad, but my name is Oscar Sherry and I fought in the ‘98.”

“Jesus Mary and Joseph, I’m hiding in a hole with a madman.” Brian shifted, and Oscar was certain he was pulling out the knife again.

Oscar continued quickly. “I was born in 1775, and I was at Vinegar Hill. I hid in this hole for three days, and when I crawled out, I was recruited just like I’m recruiting you. We’re immortal. We can be killed, but we don’t age or die. You, Brian, or whatever your real name is-- you’re a brilliant writer. That kind of talent and intellect deserves to survive. Andrew, we can always use a strong fighting man. Don’t… don’t die for Ireland today. You can do more for her alive.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Andrew laughed. Brian shifted, but he seemed to be putting the knife away this time. “I don’t believe you, but I don’t think you’re lying either. So what if we do agree to join you? What then?”

“I’ve got documents that will get us back to London, to headquarters. You’ll talk to the people in charge, and you’ll help us save the world. Try to save the world, anyway,” Oscar corrected himself quickly. He himself would be having a long conversation with the people in charge about how this mess turned out.

More silence. This was agonizing, and Oscar really wished that the other two men weren’t between him and the entrance to the tomb. He could use some fresh air just now.

Finally, Brian nodded. “All right. I’ll still knife you if you doublecross us, but we’ll give you a chance, you and your mad story.”

Andrew grunted and put his hand out around Brian’s back. “Andrew O’Rourke. This’s my brother Liam. Pleasure to meet you, Oscar Sherry.”

Oscar shook the hand awkwardly, trying not to scrape his knuckles on the stone wall. “The pleasure is mine, I’m sure. Welcome to the IIA.”


End file.
